


Dissatisfaction

by ponderinfrustration



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Masturbation, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 04:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7299373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderinfrustration/pseuds/ponderinfrustration
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All was going well with their love-making, until suddenly it wasn't, and Christine is, suffice to say, less than impressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dissatisfaction

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anonymous Tumblr prompt which read "Christine's breath hitched as his cold fingers traced up his throat, the chill seeping into the warmth of her skin, pulling a rosy hue. "Beautiful." She couldn't see his lips-- she felt them against her neck as he dropped a kiss to her neck. "Angel.""

His fingers twined themselves in her hair, stroked her curls gently between thumb and forefinger and still he breathed the soft words into her neck. She could not hear them, could only feel their vibrations through her bones and in her navel, and she wanted him, as she hadn’t wanted him in such a long time, her knee slipping between his own legs. And she was certain that he wanted her too, though he was often delighted to simply hold her close and kiss her like this, and swear his undying love to her. And she was often quite delighted to hear such words from those lips. It made her warm, and unable to resist smiling just as she was smiling then, wrapped up in his warm-yet-cold body.

His lips kissed their way down from throat to collarbone, as if he were paying his respects to her, and she shuddered as he nuzzled into her breasts, her hand resting heavily on the back of her neck. He was going to make his move, she was positive of it, and so she shifted her hips accordingly, ready for him and he, he-

He snored. His face was pillowed on her breasts, the very breasts he had often kissed and fondled and waxed poetic about and he _snored_.

How he could snore without a nose was a question she never _could_ find an answer to, though believe her she tried, especially when he snored on top of her though she was more than ready for him.

She should have expected it, really. The poor man had been awake for two days composing for her, and he played his new masterpiece that evening, with a taste of red wine and some candlelight and she had wrapped her arms around his waist as he played, because she was ready for him then too.

And, you know, usually she would have been _delighted_ at him getting some sleep. Heaven knew well he needed it. But when he was getting that sleep on top of her when he would usually be kissing her and using those talented long fingers to make her whimper at his tender love-making, well she could not help but feel a _little_ put out. Any reasonable woman would, after all, and she was burning for him between her hips.

She shifted herself, _not_ careful to avoid waking him though he still stayed perfectly asleep, his breaths soft and warm. And she nuzzled into his neck, kissing his pulse and slipping her hand down to the thatch of hair beneath her legs. She sought out that hot, wet nub that he should have been stroking, and carefully rubbed it, feeling it wake to her own touch, the heat spreading deep into her as she rubbed and rubbed and her breath came shorter as she kissed him over and over, her free hand teasing the nipple beneath his shirt until she felt her release, the rhythm of her hips bucking into her hand.

She gasped for air, and as her heart settled she pulled him close to her and held him, and told herself that it was squarely her husband’s fault that she had just sinned like that.

And the afore-mentioned husband slept on.


End file.
